Family Tree
by actuallyginger
Summary: In which a bored Sherlock gets more than he bargained for, with the return of someone he never expected to see. (Bit of an AU, but completely plausible situation-Rated T for now just to be safe)
1. Boredom

A/N: This fic is set in between _The Empty Hearse_ and _The Sign Of Three._ Depending on how much I like playing with these characters in this wonderful sandbox, the non-cannon ideas may continue through the end of series three, and beyond. This is my first fic that I've ever felt confident enough to post, so I do ask for as much feedback as possible. Please enjoy, and thank you for stumbling in on this little piece of creativity.

Chapter 1

Boredom

It was raining on Sunday. For the past four Sundays it had rained on Baker Street. The consistency was infuriating to the curly haired detective, as he stood facing the window to the world beyond. As the droplets hit the window, he became lost in his own mind. A feat, which of course stunned nobody. Consistency and normalcy, two words that had become complacently perched in his life. It made him quite mad. He needed to do something, to make something, to find something to do. Boredom was not becoming on the young man's face.

He continued to watch the rain for a few more moments. Then, without thought turned sharply to his armchair and sunk down into the cushion.

"Still bored?" his partner asked him with a chuckle. John Watson was one to enjoy the detectives constant irritation. It was good for a laugh on occasion and other times it just made him dizzy.

Sherlock looked at John and rolled his eyes with a groan, "Of course I'm bloody bored! Its raining, its Sunday, and there is nothing to do," he pronounced, pounding his fists into the arms of the chair like a child. "I need something to do, please give me something to do!"

"I've been through your email at least a dozen times, there hasn't been anything," Watson replied.

"People don't die like they used to John," Sherlock said with his usual remorse-free verbatim.

John chuckled and stood up, moving to the dimly lit kitchen he once shared with Sherlock. Two years and some change had passed since Sherlock's "death", and John had forgiven him mostly. But Watson had yet to truly spend time in the flat with his old partner. Sure there was a case here and there that they worked on, but the idea of being alone in the flat with his partner and not actually working on things was quite nice. They hadn't done anything of the sort in a long time.

The floor creaked a bit with each step, something that was more comforting than an old floor should be. John glanced around the old kitchen, with its sickly green walls, and tiling all out of place. He always liked the kitchen, even though it constantly smelled of things no kitchen should, and was regularly covered in a thin layer of grime. He opened the fridge, and after sifting through jars of various oddities realized it was empty of any actual food.

"Sherlock, where did all of the groceries go?"

"They were in the way." He replied. "I chucked them."

John's eyes widened as he closed the door a little harder than he should've. "You did what?" he inquired, a bit harshly.

"I chucked them away, it's no problem really," the detective said. "There were experiments to be done and I had no way of accomplishing them with all of the vegetables and such that were clogging the much needed space."

"Sherlock, I bought you groceries for a reason! I wanted you to try and eat something for once,"

"Oh please leave the worrying about me to Mrs. Hudson," Sherlock chuckled. "She does a far better job of it that you do."

John rolled his eyes and moved back into the living room. He knew the detective was right, there was no use arguing it. Although he'd have to explain the credit charge to his fiancé. With that thought in mind, he pulled out his phone and began to flip through text messages. As if it was planned, a ping from Mary came through.

 ** _Coming home tonight?_**

He smirked and typed out a reply.

 ** _Maybe, if the high functioning sociopath doesn't lock me away._**

John could've patted himself on the back, he was so funny. He glanced over to his best friend, who was deep in thought again. There would be no use trying to talk to him, he'd probably gone into a mind palace again. His phone dinged again.

 ** _Enjoy the straightjacket my love._**

He laughed out loud, loud enough to make Sherlock turn sharply towards him.

"What?" Holmes asked, looking annoyed.

John shoved his phone into his pocket, "Oh nothing, just Mary."

"Just Mary," Sherlock stated. He drummed his fingers together and stood up, beginning to pace.

John didn't know how much more of this he could take, he needed to run him ragged. Tire him out. They needed a case, or something to occupy their time. John grabbed up his laptop and began to sift through emails again.

"How about, 'My dog is an alien' ?" John suggested.

"Too vague," Sherlock replied, still pacing.

"Okay, 'My tounge is missing' sounds intriguing."

"Medical disorder, send her to a doctor."

" What if we did 'The doors keep switching in my house', little paranormal activity sounding, could be a challenge?"

"Nothing good enough," Sherlock said. "I need something big, something exciting, something I haven't seen yet."

Almost on cue, Sherlock's phone began to ring.

"Mycroft," Sherlock said distastefully, "What do you want?"

"There has been a bit of an issue," his brother said through the phone.

"What kind of an issue? Please speak quickly brother, I have more interesting things to attend to."

Mycroft chuckled into the phone, "Theres a package arriving for you, I checked it this morning so nothing is going to explode in your face," mycroft paused, "Well it might explode, but it won't hurt you."

"What are you on about Mycroft?" Sherlock asked, growing more irritated by his wonderful older brother each second.

"You'll see soon, just a tip though, you may want to make sure you don't smell like a dead rat," Mycroft chuckled.

Sherlock stared down at his phone as he ended the call.

John looked at his partner confused, "What was that about?"

"Mycroft, delivering a package to me this morning," he replied.

"Well there's something exciting," Watson added.

The bell rang, and Sherlock moved down the stairs with a bit of pep in his step. Although his amazing older brother was a thorn in his side, he couldn't say too much horror about him when he provided Sherlock with a bit of excitement.

Standing outside the door, was a girl. No taller than Mrs. Hudson, with long dark hair and brown eyes. She had high cheekbones and a fair complexion with quite a few freckles. She looked up into the face of the detective and smiled.

"Hello brother mine, long time no see,"


	2. 9 Years

Chapter Two

9 years

Sherlock stood there in shock, staring down at the small girl that stood before him. He didn't speak, his mouth sat frozen in a thin line that didn't give away a hint of emotion.

It had been a long time since he had seen this face, a long time since any mention of the girl had come about. He had almost forgotten how similar the two looked, but it wasn't as if she was unfamiliar to him altogether.

A few more moments passed by, as the two stood staring at one another.

"Well, aren't you going to say hello?" she prodded with a smirk. Her thick London accent was overly apparent. Sherlock knew she was compensating, she hadn't spoken with the accent in a long time.

"You shouldn't be here," was all the detective could muster up. "You are supposed to be in America."

"I don't have to be anymore," she replied. "According to sources unbeknowst to myself, I no longer am in a predicament."

Sherlock still was stunned. "Are you positive?"

"I wouldn't be standing here if I wasn't," she replied.

"Sherlock who is it?" John called down the stairs.

"Nobody of any importance," Sherlock replied shakily, unsure of how to handle the situation. He had never mentioned it to John. He had never mentioned it to anybody. There were reasons he didn't keep family photographs in the flat.

The girls mouth fell open, "Is that any way to treat me?" she asked.

"He doesn't," Sherlock stammered, "I mean they don't,"

"What? Know about me?" she almost laughed. "Well obviously you aren't the intelligent one anymore,"

"Watch it," Sherlock barked sharply.

"Or what? Its raining, I'm coming inside," the girl spat defiantly. She had enough of his ridiculousness. The dark haired girl moved past him and began to move up the stairs. "Kind of odd this place, seen pictures of the outside in the papers, nothing more than that."

Sherlock followed her up, biting his tongue and refraining from throwing her out the door.

It had been 9 years since he had seen her. At least 3 since he had spoken to her. She most likely wasn't pleased. He studied her for a moment as they walked.

21\. Single. Virgin most likely. Pretense accent, too long away from the country. Hiding her intelligence. College graduate. Harvard or MIT potentially both. Reprimanded for being smart. Unpolished, chipped fingernails, sign of hard work-something where she works with her hands. Lived in a place that has a small cat, light orange fur on her dark pants. Recently cut her hair in preparation for something important, probably this visit, shows that she is wary about her appearance, however seems to be wearing very little makeup.

They reached the doorway into the flat and she stood there a moment taking it all in.

John noticed the girl for the first time, and proceeded to move toward her.

"Dr. Watson, how are you?" he asked shaking her hand.

"I'm-" she broke off and looked back at her brother, his eyes wide. "Coralina," She paused again, and made the decision. "Coralina Holmes."

Watsons jaw dropped to the floor, and it sat there a minute before he spoke. What was she? A cousin, a niece? Did Mycroft reproduce and Watson not be there to give his condolences to the woman? He looked to Sherlock for answers, only to realize he wouldn't receive any, because Sherlock was not pleased. The detective moved away from her to stand by the window and stare at the water droplets still beading down the window.

"Why didn't I know you had a sister?" John asked, looking from one to the other.

"Nobody knows about me," Coralina replied. "I'm technically dead."

"Technicalities are apparently void in this day and age," Sherlock spat from the window.

Coralinas face grew hot, and she moved towards him, "Not even an ounce of sympathy from you? "

"Why do you deserve my sympathy?"

"Because I'm your sister for god sake!" She exclaimed. "And I haven't heard a word from you in a very long time. Took me reading his blog to figure out what on earth you were up to, then I hear on the news that you've died," she continued, growing more and more frustrated.

"Oh, so she didn't know either? Welcome to the club," John said as nonchalantly as possible.

"You shouldn't be here," Sherlock repeated.

"I needed to see you," she said. "I wanted to make sure you were alright, I thought you'd be pleased to see me." The Holmes sister looked as if she was about to cry.

John still was confused, and he sat down in his arm chair and put his hands to his forehead.

"I'm going to need some background information," Watson said. "And sooner rather than later would probably be best."

"How long have you got?" Coralina asked with a smile. "It's quite a novel."

John smirked, "I'll make the tea then."

John was taking this much better than Sherlock. The detective was still staring out the stupid window.

Sherlock became lost in thought. 9 years ago, he remembered everything. He was consulting on one of his very first cases. She was living at home, just 10 years old but every bit as brilliant as her brothers. Mycroft was already moving his way up in the government, so at the thought of a terrorist plot, he put his two best assets on the case to uncover the information needed to stop it. Coralina was computer smart. The smartest when it came to anything electronic. With a few clicks she gained access to a set of files belonging to a terrorist cell in London. The only issue was she didn't cover her tracks well enough, and gained quite a bit of attention from this particular group of nasty human beings. She was nearly killed, and to save her life, the Holmes family did the only thing possible to protect her; they killed her.

"But I wasn't really dead," Coralina continued, as she sipped her tea and recalled the events of her life to the doctor. "They did a great bit with it, had an obituary and a funeral and everything, shipped me off to America to live with a family. Witness protection in short."

John's eyes were wide, and he still was surprised. Sherlock had never mentioned a sister, even existing. The fact that there was a girl that was nearly identical to his flat mate was quite entertaining. John liked the girl, she was intelligent, like his friend, but had some significant social skills that the consulting detective seemed to lack.

Holmes had moved away from the window and looked down at his sister again. He didn't know if he was happy that she was back or utterly terrified. He knew very little about his sister's time in America. She was almost a stranger to him.

"I'm going for a walk," the detective said sharply, as he threw his coat around his shoulders.

"I'll come with you," Coralina said, popping up quickly.

"No," Sherlock replied. "I'm going alone, don't wait up John."

Without another word he moved down the stairs and out the door, closing it a little harder than necessary.

Coralina slumped back down in the chair. "Mycroft said he'd react like this,"

"Give him time Coralina, he'll come around." Watson replied.

"Oh did I honestly introduce myself as Coralina?" She could've rolled over in her pretend grave. "Please, call me Corey, everybody does."

"I assume you'll be staying here with him?" John asked, trying not to pry but genuinely curious.

She nodded, and stood up. "I'm going to walk after him, I'd rather not deal with his sulking irritability for longer than I have to." And without another word, she threw her coat back around her shoulders, turned the collar up and exited.

John could've cackled it was so perfect. It could've been a scene from a play. Whatever happened next, he couldn't wait to find out.


End file.
